


plain + simple

by gloinul



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: A Stitch in Time is unfortunately required reading, M/M, judas' extra special terrible post canon garashir speculative fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27981696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloinul/pseuds/gloinul
Summary: The sounds pause, and Garak takes the opportunity to slink around to see just who is stopping to smell the flowers. For all that he has said about Cardassian stealth, Garak drops his scissors.Julian Bashir is in his gardens. He is facing Tolan’s statue, his gaze upwards as the figure spreads its wings into the morning sun. He turns, and as he does, the light hits his eyes and Garak can see that they are glistening.“Hello, old friend,” He says, smile wide, arms behind his back in perfect Starfleet professionalism.“Julian,” Garak whispers, as if speaking his name may cause him to disappear.//post ds9/asit speculative garashir. garak talks about his feelings for the first time in a decade and julian waxes poetic.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	plain + simple

**Author's Note:**

> \- yahoo! my first non joke fic that ive actually finished in like two years! that daforge character study fic and and quodo comedy of errors are coming soon bro i promise i promise (sweating profusely)  
> \- if you have not read a stitch in time by andy robinson i need you to do this it's not that long and if you care about garak it is SO so worth it. spoilers for all of ds9 duh but please read it you can find it [here](https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1xKmHdn99g0UngQyzIPRmD63vEXG-WI4b?usp=sharing) w the rest of the ds9 novels. most of them suck but asit..... asit..... yeah  
> \- you could PROBABLY read this without that context but some things might be confusing. feel free to ask questions on my [tumblr (@garak)](https://garak.tumblr.com/ask) if you dont want to read a whole novel (you should though)  
> \- this fic is just asit propaganda  
> \- enjoy

For once in his life, Elim Garak had become quite grateful for the mundane routine of hemming pants. The Tailor’s Grounds is an apt name indeed, for after the tending to the wounded, the burying of the dead, there is nothing left but to return to one’s old work and pray no one comes politicking. With his memoirs done (Done, as if he had lived a complete life! A Cardassian may live with the past and present intermingled, but the future is always yet to come), there was little to do besides contribute in whatever way he could to the rebuilding of Cardassian society. If that meant ripping seams until he passed away from old age, it would have to be enough.

His orchids would be blooming soon. Their resilience in soil littered with concrete was proof enough to him that the Hebitians may have been onto something. Perhaps it was coincidence that they grew stronger and more beautiful than anywhere else beneath Tolan’s memorial. Garak believed in coincidences. 

His transmission to the doctor had been sent a month ago and there was still no reply. He was a busy man, to be sure, and ultimately Garak could accept that his reminiscences had fallen on unreceiving, or perhaps worse, unforgiving, ears. It simply invoked a dissonance, what with the doctors normally prompt replies. Garak could not fault him for looking at him in a different light, having read his life’s story, especially if that light was not a good one. After all, he never had been truly reciprocative. 

Under the haze of dust, time travels quickly and without end. Hours turn into days, days into weeks. Movement feels sluggish, and a largely mindless task such as whip stitching the entire side of a pant leg (He had not the time nor the resources to purchase a proper sewing machine, as inefficient as he was without it) made the day end as if it had never begun in the first place. 

This was why he tended to his plants first. If not, there was a chance he would forget them entirely, and it was not as if nature would do his job for him. It had not rained yet in all of the time he had been back, and he doubted that it would for likely another year. The ecosystem of the entire planet had been displaced, and it only made sense for weather patterns to react accordingly. 

It is during this time that Garak hears footsteps. These are not the footsteps of a Cardassian. Cardassians are naturally light on their feet, and even against the pseudo gravel that serves as a path through the statues would make little sound. It was a defense mechanism to make one less noticeable. These are heavy footfalls, taken with a purpose. 

The sounds pause, and Garak takes the opportunity to slink around to see just who is stopping to smell the flowers. For all that he has said about Cardassian stealth, Garak drops his scissors.

Julian Bashir is in his gardens. He is facing Tolan’s statue, his gaze upwards as the figure spreads its wings into the morning sun. He turns, and as he does, the light hits his eyes and Garak can see that they are glistening.

“Hello, old friend,” He says, smile wide, arms behind his back in perfect Starfleet professionalism.

“Julian,” Garak whispers, as if speaking his name may cause him to disappear. 

Garak doesn’t know who went towards whom, but Julian is in his arms, holding on like a man drowning, and suddenly he is crying. It is nothing like his daydreams and Julian’s scruff grates against his ridges. He wants it to last forever.

“Well,” Julian says, breathy, pulling away just enough so he can still comfortably hold onto Garak’s upper arms, “sorry for not calling ahead. ‘Fraid I had to get some things sorted out first before I could head out. Ezri sends her regards.” There is a bittersweet pang in his heart.

“Of course, dear doctor. Wouldn’t want to leave your patients without a... lifeline, per say.” God, he’s rusty at this. It used to be that a cutting remark or a clever redirection came to him immediately, but the overworked and underfed construction workers of a modern Cardassia he usually conversed with did not have much time for wordplay. 

“Of course.” Julian sees right through him. “Show me around? I must say, when I first read about your statues I had not imagined them to be this intricate. You truly missed your calling as an artist, Garak.” He loops his arm through Garak’s as if they were nowhere but the promenade and there was nothing separating them but Garak’s old mysteries. 

“Perhaps, if you do not consider clothwork an artistry of its own,” Garak says and starts to stroll in no direction particularly. “Though you have always been underappreciative when it comes to fashion.”

Julian laughs and says, “Oh, I’ve come to appreciate it. I still have many of the pieces you made for me, and Risian silk does wonders when it comes to negotiating with diplomats.” He smiles to himself again. “With Odo gone, the responsibility of handling Ambassador Troi now falls to me. Only fair, I suppose.”

“Odo hasn’t come back yet? I can’t imagine living in a... soup of my ancestors being all that pleasant.” Julian’s eyes crinkle.

“Only briefly. Quark was off the walls, you should have seen the eyes he was making at him the whole time he was there.” Garak smiles at the thought. Perhaps Quark wasn’t so incorrect in his supposition that they weren’t so different. Perhaps it had all been a ploy to get a larger cut of the money Garak made off of him. Perhaps both. “Either way, he left pretty soon. Guess the Great Link is better than it sounds.”

“No accounting for taste,” Garak sighs, “though I am, of course, no shapeshifter.”

“Could have fooled me,” Julian says, elbowing him in the side. “What happened to the Garak who refused to let his hair show even a little grey? Who is this man who lets his clothes drape instead of having them tailored to the millimeter like a skinsuit?”

Garak fakes a shocked look. “You’ve caught me out, Doctor. I’m truly a Dominion spy and this has all been an elaborate set up to lull you into giving away Federation medical secrets.” And as Julian ducks his head to hide a laugh, Garak finds he, too, is smiling. “No, my dear, I’m afraid I have simply given up the ghost of my youth. Fifty eight is not young for a Cardassian, you know. As for fashion,” He gestures to Julian’s all green getup, “I don’t believe that your opinion holds water.”

“Green is a good colour on me. You said so yourself, you know.” Julian jokingly preens and checks his nails. “What did you expect me to wear? My old uniform?”

“Actually, I didn’t expect you at all,” Garak says, trying for lightheartedness, but judging by Julian’s reaction lets a little too much of his sadness slip through. 

“Garak-”

“Don’t, Doctor, please,” Garak interrupts before Julian can start with what would no doubt be a very heartfelt but nevertheless very condescending speech on friendship. Garak straightens his spine. “Well,” He sighs, in an obvious redirection, “Would you like to see my home? I’m sure I have a cup of tea for you in there somewhere,”

“I would love to, Garak,” Julian says obligingly, but the shadow over his eyes does not leave. 

As they walk through the garden, Garak nigh reflexively places his hand over Julian’s. For a moment in time it feels almost as if he were back to his - old life. (He did not allow himself to think of his time in exile as normal. What was it Calyx had said? Living in exile is like living in a dream... or was it the other way around? It didn’t matter, either way, that wasn’t his life now. It was all in the past). Julian huffed in that way he did when he was amused by something and let Garak lead him to the small property at the back of the plot. 

Garak’s house was closer to what some would describe as more of a shed, which was verily true, as it had been Tolan’s garden shed before it had been Garak’s abode. He had a camping stove, a water basin (for cooking, washing clothes, and everything else; much of the plumbing had been destroyed in the war and few people aside from those who truly needed it had running water anymore), a cot with several blankets, and a small table that had formerly been a tool stand. Garak had accrued a stock of nonperishables, tea included, as there was little point in using one’s replicator rations on frivolities when one could instead maximize the longevity of one’s foodstores. Garak would admit that perhaps he was being slightly paranoid in his storing and rationing of food, but paranoia had paid off well in the past. Isn’t a spy’s job to be paranoid? 

Garak puttered around the small sector of his home he liked to call the kitchen while Bashir pulled up a stool at the table. He found his kettle, lit the stove, set the kettle to boil, and turned to face Julian.

“So,” He begins, dreading the response before he even poses the question, “what brings you to my little corner of the world? A little late for a response to the call for Federation doctors, my dear.”

“Ah, well,” Julian says, leaning back to recline before realizing his chair has no back, “You know.”

“No, Doctor, I’m afraid I do not know.” Garak pointedly lifts himself off the counter to go sit across from Julian. With a little more spite this time, he tries again. “Why are you here, Julian?”

Julian coughs. “Do I really have to say it, Garak?”

“Yes, my friend, I’m afraid you do.”

The kettle whistles. Julian smiles nervously and rubs at his wrist under the table. Garak turns around with a barely audible sigh and fetches two cups and two bags of a lovely, fruity blend he has been saving for a rainy day. 

“So, Doctor,” Garak begins again, preparing the cups for the both of them, “as you were saying...?”

“Yes, right,” Julian says, “As I was saying.” He picks up his cup to take a sip before Garak has even poured the tea, realises his mistake, puts the cup back down and sighs. “I apologize, I didn’t think it would be this hard. You want to know why I came?” Garak makes a small noise to confirm. “Yes. Yes, well. Erm. I got your memoir.”

“So I had assumed.” Garak gives him a look.

“Great read, by the way. Really riveting. Think you’ll ever publish it?” Julian asks, clearly trying to divert the conversation.

“I don’t know, Doctor. Do you think I should? I would of course make much of it anonymized, of course, as much for my safety as for the subjects of the book. What’s a better fake name for you, Doctor, Jove or Jupiter? Though of course Hypocrates might be more accurate.” Julian huffs out a laugh, his face heating at Garak’s teasing.

“Jove, I think, my friend, but it won’t be necessary. Anyhow,” Julian says, abashed. “I finished it not too long ago, and from your epilogue I thought it might be prudent to accept your invitation.”

Ah. Right.

“Of course. I had forgotten,” Garak quips. He had not forgotten, he rarely forgets anything, much less something that had induced a frankly preposterous amount of nail biting on his part. “In my continuing pursuit of honestly, I will tell you that I really had not expected you to show up.” Julian looks like he’s about to interrupt, but Garak cuts him off. “Not your fault, my dear doctor. You have done nothing to make me think you bear me any ill will, only that I know you lead a busy life, what with your doctoring and with Ezri and what not back at the station. You surely have more pressing matters to attend to than to visit a foolish old Cardassian who’s suddenly grown a conscience.” 

“About that,” Julian starts, looking pained. “Ezri and I broke up. Quite a while ago, actually. I suppose I didn’t write you about it since, well,” He scratches the back of his head. “You never were too keen on her, I suppose. As for your other points, I’ve really got very little to do back at the station. It’s not like I’m going to move up in the ranks, anyhow. It’s really a small miracle that I still have my job at all. But there comes a point when one wishes for more, as I’m sure you know. When I came to Bajor, I was looking for a frontier medicine experience, as misguided as the notion may have been. Sometimes,” Julian looks down at his tea. “Sometimes I miss those days, as hectic as they were. So varied, every day a new challenge. I miss the stimulation. I miss the intrigue.” He takes a sip from his cup seemingly without even giving it thought. “Your memoirs, they prompted me to start thinking about my own past. When I’m as old as you are,” Garak huffs indignantly, but Julian doesn’t spare him a glance. “I wonder what I’ll have to say about it all. Will I look back on a life well lived, or will I be saddened by a career stunted by circumstances beyond my control, a failed marriage, a love lost to my own cowardice? I’ve given it quite a bit of thought this last month, what it was that made those years so different, and I think I’ve figured it out. The mystery, the intrigue... it was all you.” Julian stops looking into his cup and stares Garak straight in the eyes. “I don’t miss the war. I don’t miss the struggle. I miss you, Garak, and I don’t want to let you become my biggest regret. I don’t want to let you be the one that got away. That’s why I’m here.” 

By this point, it seemed Julian’s demeanor had changed entirely from his earlier nervousness. Garak shifted under his gaze, suddenly hyper aware of himself.

“It’s okay, my friend,” Julian says, his gaze softening. “I know you’re still getting used to this whole radical truthfulness concept. I don’t need you to respond to all of that at once.”

“Thank you,” Garak responds, only feeling a modicum more relaxed. “Well. I would like to start with this: Though I may no longer dye my hair, I do still resent being called old.” Julian laughs a little at that. “As for the rest, I- the one that got away? Julian,” And suddenly the humor of the situation occurs to himself and he can’t stop himself from laughing. “Julian, I was consistently coming onto you for seven years. I broke into the holosuite several times just because you had missed a lunch. I wrote a whole book for the express purpose of sending it to you! The one that got away?” Julian is properly blushing now, ears red to the tip. “My dear, dear doctor. What was it that I wrote to you? You are always welcome. You were always welcome.”

“Well,” Julian says, subtly trying to wipe his eyes. “I’ll be honest, it really is quite surprising to hear all this emotional hubbub coming from you, Garak.”

“All your fault, my dear. You have been a terrible influence on me.” Garak sighs, and goes to actually sit down at the table instead of leaning against the counter. “Shall we finally get to drinking our tea?” He asks, and Julian nods. They drink the whole pot in companionable silence.

At long last, Julian clears his throat. He sets his cup down, and Garak goes to clean up before Julian puts a hand on his arm to stay him.

“I would, in the pursuit of clarity, like to make my intentions entirely clear,” He starts.

“Your intentions? My dear Julian, I have no parents to scandalize. You need not go to such lengths,” Garak laughs.

“No, I really would like to,” Julian says, seemingly serious on this. “We’ve spent a lot of time dancing around each other, so much so that I think our communicative track record could be accurately adapted into a comedy of errors.” Julian takes a deep breath before saying, “I love you, Elim. I have for a while. I’m sure Ezri and I would have drifted apart anyways, but I think this was sort of the last straw for her. I never really got over you. She knew that if you asked it of me, I’d drop her for you no matter what, even at many points in our relationship where I myself wouldn’t have agreed. I understand that it’s been quite a bit since our old days, and if you’ve moved on, I understand and accept that. I just... want to make it clear. I do love you.”

Garak sighs. “This is all still rather hard for me, this radical expression of my feelings. I don’t think I’ll ever get completely used to it.” Garak sighs again, this one exaggerated and theatrical with an eye roll to match. “But, in the ‘pursuit of clarity’, as you put it, Doctor, I... love you too.” The last few words make him flinch, but Julian’s saucer-wide eyes make up for it.

“Wh- Um. Great. That’s great,” He says, blinking rapidly. “Glad we’re on the same page here. Uh, I wasn’t really expecting this outcome, so I didn’t really think of what to say. Thank you? This is really, erm, it’s really good,” Julian repeats, looking genuinely surprised.

“Yes, yes. All very good,” Garak says, switching back into his more comfortable smug persona. “Now what was it you said about doing anything I asked of you? Could it be that in teaching you how to be stronger, I myself become your weakness? Poetic irony, indeed...” Julian rolls his eyes and smiles before interlocking their hands. Garak tenses up a little, before squeezing their hands together and looking away, blue in the face.

“I didn’t say anything, I’ll have you know, just that I’d drop everything in my life to be with you again. I wouldn’t be at your beck and call, exactly,” Julian scrunches up his face. “...Well. By definition I would be, I guess. But that doesn’t mean I’ll do everything you ask, you scamp!” Julian exclaims, pointing accusatively at a clearly disbelieving Garak. “No amount of love that I may bear you will make me ever wear that terrible mustard colour you so favor. It’s so ugly, I can’t believe you wore that shirt almost every week. Terrible with your undertones.”

Garak makes a face of mock affront, complete with hand to chest, and gasps. “I’ll have you know, my undereducated friend, that that shirt goes together perfectly with my skintone! I’m surprised you even know what undertones are, what with your get up.” Julian pretends to look shocked in return, but can’t stop his smile from slipping through. “But, truly, Julian. You really would have...?”

“Well,” Julian says, looking away bashfully. “I can’t say it wouldn’t have taken some thought. But I think in the end I always would have circled back to you. It would take a while to get all my affairs in order, but if you asked me to stay, I’d call Starfleet in a heartbeat to tell them they didn’t have to keep making an exception for me. Kira would probably be glad.” Julian laughs and shakes his head. “Here I am talking about staying when we haven’t talked about if we want to be in a real relationship or not. You always said I was a little bullheaded when it came to matters of the heart.”

“I would like to,” Garak states simply, taking a sip of his tea. “I can’t say I’m sure how it would work, or if it would work at all. But I’d like to try, at the very least. It’ll be a wonderful footnote to all my complaining about you when I publish my memoirs.”

“That’s- Well. That’s great,” Julian says, once again not having had time to think about his responses. “To think, after all this time... What will all our old friends say?” 

“If I were to hazard a guess, my dear,” Garak says, bringing Julian’s hands to rest inside his own, “They would say ‘It’s about time’.” With another squeeze to Julian’s hands, he slowly rises to begin tidying away the dishes. Julian laughs and lets him go.

“They’d be right,” Julian sighs, as Garak gently places their cups in the water basin. “Sorry for all the babbling, by the way, I’m just... giddy, I suppose.” Garak turns around to find Julian standing beside his seat. “Um. Can I kiss you?”

Garak starts for a second before smiling softly. “Of course, my dear,” He says, closing the distance and leaning up to meet Julian’s lips. 

Just a chaste peck gets him blushing like a schoolboy, only making Garak smile more. He leans back in for another, longer this time, gently cupping Julian’s cheek as if he might disappear. When they break the kiss, Julian loops his arms around Garak’s shoulders. Not exactly sure what to do with himself, Garak loosely hugs his midsection and rests his chin on Julian’s shoulder. They stay that way, embracing, for a while, before Garak pulls back.

“May I ask you something, my dear doctor?” He asks, quiet, almost looking nervous.

“Anything,” Julian replies, squeezing his forearms.

“Did you mean it?” Garak says, hesitant. “When you said you would give it all up if I asked you to stay?”

Julian huffs out a laugh. “Of course.”

Garak can’t help the small smile that spreads across his face as he once again links his hands with Julian’s between them.

“Then stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- and that's all he wrote  
> \- thanks to my LOVELY lovely beta [emma](https://kishibashiing.tumblr.com) for reading this over even though she hasn't read asit (broken heart emoji) go check her out  
> \- feel free to quiz me on ds9 lore on [twitter (@elimbashir)](https://twitter.com/elimbashir) or on [tumblr (@garak)](https://garak.tumblr.com/ask) even if i mostly post about the witcher 2: assassins of kings (2011).  
> \- drop a comment and i'll thank you in the credits of my future deep space 9 spinoff show


End file.
